“Are you feeling OK?” has become the staple of my existence. That question haunts me every day. It follows me to classes, to the store, to bed. I hear it from friends and acquaintances alike and I’d begun wondering if I’d just looked awful. Then there’d be a reason for the constant question. But, I saw the same “me” in the mirror each morning. I couldn’t see what others saw.
I’m pretty sure if I asked one of my artistic friends to draw how she sees me, my body would consist of painkillers and my knee brace would be permanently attached to my leg. If I asked another friend to describe me, they’d disguise their tendencies to define me by my illness and say things like, “You’re so unbelievably strong.” I would grimace and wonder why no one comments on the fact that I snort when I laugh, how much I love writing, or why I’m so clumsy. I like being strong, but my “strength” seems to overpower my other quirks. I’m only "strong" because I got sick.
I am so much more than “strong.”
Someone once told me that I have a certain number of spoons per day. Each activity takes a spoonful of effort and my spoons are scarcer than others’ spoons. The thing is that they’re my spoons and I should decide how to use them without worried looks. I am more than the number of spoons that I have available and I’m more than a person who manages with a limited number of spoons.
My spoons take beatings, but that doesn’t mean that I’m always thinking about them. In fact, I can forget that I’m sick when people smile at me or when I’m invited out to a movie. We could not talk about chronic pain for hours, watching the clouds roll in with their reservoirs leaking. We could splash in the puddles and I wouldn’t think about the spoons that I’d use. I would be more than my disorder–if only for a moment.
Those moments are precious. No one asks if I’m feeling all right because there isn’t any doubt that I’m not. No one misconstrues my allergies for sadness and no one wonders if I’ve forgotten my medicine. I am only strong because I finish that last sentence in my paper and laugh at the way that I apologize to my laptop or because I don’t get mad at my dog for having an accident on the floor.
I am strong because I refuse to let my illness be the only part of me.
